


which are (which shall be)

by ofsevenseas



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofsevenseas/pseuds/ofsevenseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Just a single dance, dear,” said the king. “Then I promise I’ll move on. I can’t allow you to be beaten for casting yourself between me and the rather rapacious clutches of your sister. I do wonder why you think I am worth saving.”</p>
  <p>“Maybe because I have eyes in my head, Your Majesty,” said Heiro.</p>
</blockquote><br/>- Megan Whalen Turner. The King of Attolia.
            </blockquote>





	which are (which shall be)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plalligator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plalligator/gifts).



As a child, the lady Heiro was distressingly prone to climbing up and then, a little while later, falling out of trees. When asked by fluttering nursemaids and various irritated family members, she pointed out that it was impossible to know what the world looked like from atop a tree unless one was actually nestled in the branches of said tree. Besides, she added, her sister Themis had promised her a week of candied cherries if her tutors were suitably distracted in the afternoon.

After the fuss had died down and relevant members of the household were fetched and shouted at, Heiro was sent to bed without supper in punishment for her willful behaviour, and subsequently made to reflect on the proper conduct of well-born ladies with an entirely new set of tutors. She learned all they had to offer on the subject of subservient chaste maidens, and memorized several educational tracts to that effect. Upon reflection, Heiro decided that perhaps her family would not always interest themselves in the same hobbies that she did. And, entirely unbeknownst to her parents, she had also absorbed the lesson of discretion from the various stinging pinches her sister had left on her arms.

Now, fully grown and just a hair’s breadth taller than her sister, Heiro was, if not a seasoned member of Attolia’s royal court, then at least a habitual member of its sun-filled sewing rooms and marbled audience chambers. The barons and their families had relocated to their own city residences while every single shattered pane of glass in the palace was being replaced, but they had returned in force for the wedding and coronation, a double event that promised to fuel gossip and manoeuvring for months to come.

It was all very exciting, Themis had said.

Heiro sympathised with the queen’s attendants as they glided to and fro on the queen’s orders - having strained every last nerve preparing for the wedding, they did not appear relieved in the least. In fact, every passing moment only served to wound their postures tighter, like the queen's grand clock, until Heiro feared they would spring up from their positions and whisk her majesty to safety as they so clearly desired.

While the rest of her family gleefully traded speculation with their neighbours and allies, Heiro was left to exchange speaking glances with Eunice and Callia as the assembled guests whispered ‘goat-foot’ to each other and nodded knowingly. Even the rich wedding feast, served with ample amphorae of royal wine, did nothing but encourage the chattering.

Heiro toyed with the raisin-studded pastry on her plate as she contemplated feigning illness so she could escape, when the tail-end of a question caught her ear. “ - not Heiro, surely?”

Her sister raised one carefully plucked eyebrow, full lips curved in amusement. “I think not. Tell me, Heiro, what do you think of our new king?”

“Well,” Heiro said, stalling as she thought about the intensity in his dark eyes before his expression had shuttered into nothingness, the careful balancing of his wide, swinging sleeves as he took the vows of kingship. “He’s shorter than I expected.”

As one, her family snorted and turned to each other, leaving Heiro alone to her half-empty dessert plate, the glitter of candlelight against the dinnerware, and her thoughts.

-

At the head of the room, seated between her ambassador and her aunt, her majesty the queen of Eddis stifled a smile when the music changed pace. Beside her, Ornon shifted, the silk of his robes rustling minutely as he leaned over one of the many elaborate marzipan sculptures dotting the long table. Eugenides, newly crowned Attolis, looked up from where he’d been scrutinizing his krater, turning it slowly in his hand. 

“No.” He said, one single word coloured with all the petulance of which he was capable, and set the wine cup back on the table.

“It is tradition,” the queen of Attolia replied, repressive. Her attendants bristled to attention at her words, ready to come to her defense at a moment’s notice.

At this, Eugenides twisted in his seat, heedless of the wide sleeves of his scarlet ceremonial robes. They came to rest precariously close to a plate of candied fruits cunningly stacked in the shape of honeycombs, and stayed there. A brief round of staring ensued, after which Eugenides smiled, rather more sulkily than kingly dignity should have allowed.

“You have always been one for traditions, of course.” He said, rising from the throne and briefly bringing a halt to the conversations in the dining hall.

“My King,” Attolia agreed, the cast of her face serene and smooth as a statue of Hephaestia. Not to be outdone, Eugenides bowed, offering his queen a hand - his real hand - as they both made their way to centre of the room, and began the first dance of their new reign together.

-

“It’s a shame he’s not more of man.” Themis remarked, watching as all of them watched, bored hawks waiting for their prey to show the first sign of weakness.

“Like Nahuseresh,” their mother added, in case Heiro had missed her sister’s meaning.

Heiro, who had always suspected her sister’s marriage had been the deciding factor in her being stricken from the list of potential queen’s attendants, amended her suspicions to include her entire family.

“In any case, she’ll have to be content with the choice she’s made.” Her father pronounced, as if his opinion were essential to every decision the queen made.

Beside her, Themis made a pointed comment about hooks, not bothering to lower her voice, as they all watched their new king lead Attolia out to the centre of the dining hall, coming to a stop at the centre of a radial pattern in blue lapis. Earlier, as the assembled barons had lined up to swear their oaths of loyalty, the king had plastered himself to the throne, arms and legs awkwardly placed as the barons mouthed platitudes and insincerity at him, radiating stillness in much the same way a fox might against hounds at bay. Heiro, remembering the Thief of Eddis, thought that he could have left the ceremony at any moment of his choosing, could still leave, wearing the heavy robes of state and his golden crown, were it not for Attolia’s hand in his own.

“My Queen?” he said, raising their clasped hands higher, as the words rang clearly through the entire hall. Attolia nodded, inscrutable as always, her ruby earrings flashing gold and red.

Heiro watched as the king positioned his feet for the opening steps of the dance, his eyes never leaving his queen's face, and smiled to herself. 


End file.
